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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052942">More Than A Feeling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans'>MarshmarrowSans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ace-spectrum Sans sorting his shit out, Asexual Sans, Asexual Sans (Undertale), Demisexual Sans, Demisexual Sans (Undertale), F/M, Loss of Virginity, No Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), No Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader has a vagina, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Soulmates, Sub Sans (Undertale), This is specifically a story about Sans not having genitals, Virgin Sans (Undertale), dom reader, reader is a female, reader is female</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:20:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Attraction is supposed to be the easy part.  Love is supposed to be the hard part.  But it's the other way around for Sans as he comes to terms with feelings for you he hadn't thought possible.  Especially considering he's lacking certain parts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Love Is Easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans was in love with you before he was ever fully attracted to you.<br/>
<br/>
It was a little ass-backwards, wasn’t it?  That’s what all the rom-com anime and movies out there would have him believe.  There was supposed to be some moment when you first met where he just stared at your face, saw an angelic glow around it as angels sang in the background, and experienced total tunnel vision to everything but you.  Seeing you in a swimsuit, or seeing your skirt hike up just a little too high on your thigh, was supposed to make him forget who, what, when, where, and why, and—he didn’t have a nose—but his nose was supposed to bleed, or something.<br/>
<br/>
None of that happened.  When he first met you, what he noticed about you was the sound of your laugh.  Not the way your hair framed your face and shined differently under different sources of light.  Not the softness, color, and curve of your lips.  Not the expressiveness and detail of your eyes.  And definitely not anything to do with your body.  Not yet.<br/>
<br/>
And when you wore that skirt on a day you hadn’t expected to be so windy, he just felt bad for you.  You were embarrassed.  He didn’t want to sneak glances.  The urge just wasn’t there.  All he’d wanted to do was avert his gaze and guide you to the nearest clothing store to grab a pair of shorts for you to wear under that ill-advised choice of garment.  And that’s exactly what he did.<br/>
<br/>
And when you brought him to that water park, he hadn’t given your socially-acceptable half-nudity a second thought.  His mind had been occupied with thoughts of two-person rides, overpriced junk food, and how nice it was to see you splashing around and having so much fun.  And to be honest, he was more worried about what was going through <em>your</em> mind as you looked at <em>him</em>, a short, stocky skeleton in swim shorts, though he didn’t realize at the time why he cared so much—why the thought of you not liking what you saw made it feel like his soul crumpled up and died a little.<br/>
<br/>
That wasn’t to say he didn’t think (or, the more accurate term may have been, realize, because it was an objective fact) you were pretty.  He was asexual, not blind.  He <em>saw</em> your face, your skin, your eyes, your hair, your lips.  He <em>saw</em> your body, where it curved and where it straightened, the swell of every muscle and collection of fat, the outline of bones under your flesh here and there.  Oh, he <em>knew</em> you were gorgeous.<br/>
<br/>
But to be <em>attracted to</em> someone carries an underlying intent.  As he understood it, being attracted to someone meant, that at least under some hypothetical scenario, well…  you wouldn’t mind taking your clothes off with that person and doing the no-pants dance with them.  Or even if not that, it at least meant a certain fixation with <em>looking</em> at that person.  And he saw you and all, but he wouldn’t say he ever, italicized and bolded, <strong><em>looked</em></strong> at you.  Not for a pretty damn long time.<br/>
<br/>
Not that it was easy to tell whether or not he was <em>looking</em> at you in the way one does when one has certain intentions.  Hell, he always got the feeling that love was supposed to be this big, confusing, indescribable thing—but only one of the cliches about it ever rang true to him, and it was that he knew it when he felt it.  As quiet as he was about it, he <em>knew</em> when he fell in love with you.  Even something that he could never hope to put into words was more clear-cut to him than the issue of sexual attraction.  When did he cross that line into sexual attraction?  Was it when he caught himself acting like an absolute fool just to get you to smile, because he was kinda obsessed with it?  Was it when he lost track of what you were saying for the first time because he was too busy staring at your lips?  Was it when he rested his head on the side of your bed, watching over you like you’d asked him to do as you were out cold sick with one of those human illnesses, and felt an ache in his soul that kept him up all night when he thought about combing his fingers through your hair?<br/>
<br/>
Romantic love had been described and exemplified to him a million ways over the years.  Even when he hadn’t yet attained it for himself, he’d seen its ins and outs and heard it expressed in countless different words.  Of <em>course</em> he knew it when he felt it.  Something so visceral and all-encompassing and universal was easy to identify.  But sex and sexual attraction?  Not so much.  Everyone got so coy about that kind of stuff.  There was an eternal undercurrent of shame to it.  Some tried to compensate by making it sound too flowery and spiritual and much the same as love itself…  which was nice, and he liked it, but he wasn’t naïve to the fact that they were separate things, closely tied as they could be for some people including himself.  Some just avoided the issue of it, which didn’t help at all.  Some spoke in euphemisms, either demure—to sleep together, to make love, to pleasure—or just downright hilarious—to choke the chicken, to gargle somebody’s marbles, to do the no-pants dance, as aforementioned.  He’d thought it was all something he simply wouldn’t and couldn’t ever understand, as someone who didn’t have genitals and wouldn’t really know what to do with them if he did.<br/>
<br/>
And yet, somehow, at some point, without even meaning to, he <em>did</em> understand it, and for the life of him, he couldn’t point to when.  Was it when you decided that you were good enough friends that you didn’t mind changing clothes with him in the room, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you?  Was it when you wore that suit to your first official date with him, and his patellae felt all wobbly as he, inexplicably, couldn’t get the thought out of his mind of you backing him up against a wall with a dark, simmering desire in your eyes? <br/>
<br/>
Or was it only when he spent another sleepless night, the magic flowing through his bones so hot and excited and aching with a need he couldn’t fulfill, because his last memory of you that day before you went home was your lips pressing frantically and affectionately to his face, your hand creeping up his sternum, and your voice whispering that you loved him?  You loved him.  You <em>loved</em> him.  You <em>wanted</em> him, clear as day.  And whether it became true that night or in any one of countless gray-area moments before it…  he wanted you, too.<br/>
<br/>
But there was an issue to come back to here, and a major one—he still did not have genitals.  The excitement he felt flowed evenly through his body and overwhelmed all of him.  There was no identifiable point in which it concentrated, no part of his body that ached to be touched any more than any other part of him.  And it wasn’t like he didn’t try.  It was embarrassing, just how much he’d tried.  To put it lightly, he watched some videos, not because he was titillated by their content—he found them kind of weird and goofy, actually—but to try and figure out what he was supposed to do to himself to reach that sweet relief everyone seemed to be chasing when they felt the things he felt.  There was nothing between his legs to wrap his hand around, so anything involving that was a lost cause.  The idea of teasing his fingers along the slit narrowly separating the two pubic crests of his hips seemed promising, but ultimately proved fruitless, not to mention personally humiliating.  He knew this was completely private, and nobody else would ever know, but he felt a sense of crushing self-consciousness anyways.  He wasn’t getting any closer.  It was just bone.  Just touch.  It wasn’t working, and he felt like shit for it, like maybe he was broken.  He tried sticking his fingers through the gaps in his ischia.  Wedged a pillow under his coccyx and sacrum and wriggled back against it like a bear scratching its back on a tree.  Turned over on his stomach, bent the pillow up into the curve of his body, and desperately, almost anguishedly mimicked that forward-and-back motion he knew worked for anyone, <em>anyone </em>else.  For all the effort he put in, all the straining and rutting and soft, muffled pleading into his mattress…  all it did was make him ache more painfully, turn him into even more of a mess, his entire body and the soul at its center begging incessantly for the impossible.  Until at last, he admitted defeat, slipped his shorts back up, consumed with shame and mortification, and laid still on his side as the heat in his bones slowly ebbed away on its own, unspent.<br/>
<br/>
He didn’t sleep a wink that night.  Because he knew what had to come next.<br/>
<br/>
It was no secret that you were—among a billion other wonderful things, of course—kind of a sexual person.  At least, you were open about your sexuality.  You joked about hentai, talked casually about ‘turn-ons’ and such, and a couple of times, downright flippantly referred to the fact that you masturbated sometimes.  Even before he started feeling the way he did now, that all had never bothered him.  It was a strange sense of humor to him, but one that made him chuckle nonetheless, and if you were comfortable with all that stuff that most people got uncomfortable about, then more power to you.  He admired it about you, even.<br/>
<br/>
But it took on a whole new meaning now.  You…  <em>knew</em> this stuff.  All the things that eluded him, his whole life and even now that these feelings had emerged in him.  The ins-and-outs (haha, in-and-out, another stellar euphemism for the scrapbook) of all of it.  You knew how to pleasure yourself, and how to pleasure others, and even though he was a special case, he felt certain that if there was anybody in the entire world who could figure him out, it’d be you.<br/>
<br/>
Not to mention the fact that he’d sooner personally bring a wrecking ball to his happy place, his favorite place in the world, Grillby’s, than ever speak a word of this to anyone but you.  He’d never understood the shame around this stuff, and yet now it was hitting him as hard as it hit anyone else, if not even harder.  How could it feel so wrong just to <em>want</em>?  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t stop it.  That’s just the way it was.  He couldn’t look you in the eye for a whole day after he tried to give in to his urges.<br/>
<br/>
A few more days passed.  The feelings returned often, unexpectedly, and sometimes unwelcomingly.  When you joked that his voice was sexy.  When you slipped your hands under his jacket as you kissed him.  When one of his jokes made you laugh, in that wonderful way he’d always loved so much.  The very first thing he loved about you.  Suddenly, it had this effect on him that it never had before.  He felt so dirty for it he forgot to laugh along with you.<br/>
<br/>
You didn’t notice.  But he knew it was only a matter of time before you did.  So, he knew what had to come next.<br/>
<br/>
He had to tell you about it.  All of it.  As best he could.  And he just had to hope that you could help him through it, like you helped him through everything else in his messy life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Talk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huh.  This turned into an asexuality vent fic halfway through.  Weird.  There will be porn next time.  Trust.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your next date with Sans took place at your house, just the two of you.  That was your agreed-upon favorite kind of date: meeting up at your place, or at his, and just seeing where things went from there.  It was just the kind of date that probably couldn’t hold up most of the time if the two of you didn’t still have such strong best-friends-forever energy.  Despite making that leap from being friends to dating, you were still entirely at ease with one another, and you could still make a perfectly fantastic evening out of watching memes on YouTube, playing video games, having dinner on the couch…  All that was different now was that you could mix some cuddling and kissing in with that, like you’d both secretly been wanting to do for a long time.<br/><br/>He was at a loss today, though.  He had a lot on his mind.  It was looking like he was going to have to rely on you to carry the date today, which you were doing a fine job of so far.  After letting him in, you’d brought him over to the couch, leaned up against his side, rested your arm around his shoulders, and started off with a good old, classic, “You would not BELIEVE the day I’ve had…”<br/><br/> As you spilled the tea on some ongoing saga of drama at work, he drank in every word like he always did—because whatever mattered enough to you to occupy your mind mattered to him, too—and he stared pensively at your face, his gaze retracing the thoroughly-traveled path from your eyes, to your cheeks, to your lips, to your cheeks, to your eyes…<br/><br/>…  And then his gaze strayed off the familiar path and got lost elsewhere.  He didn’t know why, but he found himself staring at the subtle ridge of your collar bone.  The way it became more prominent when you shrugged your shoulders.  How it was one of those spots he could see the bone structure beneath your skin, much the same as his own.  Just covered in a nice, warm…  <em>soft </em>layer.  <em>Really</em> soft.<br/><br/>His eyes roamed lower still, to somewhere he definitely usually knew he wasn’t supposed to be looking right now.  Manners slipped his mind in the moment, though, as he was preoccupied with the topic of soft things.  Super <em>duper</em> soft.  He kind of wanted to squeeze ‘em.  Or plant his face there, and…  fall asleep, or something?  They certainly looked like excellent pillows.<br/><br/>…  Yeah, he was no longer processing a word you were saying.<br/><br/>“Ah, but enough about me!  You said you had something to tell me.”<br/><br/>He came back down to reality just in time to catch you turning your head to look at him and snap his gaze back up to your face.  Oh.  Yeah.  He <em>had</em> mentioned something about that at some point, hadn’t he?  Well, there was no turning back now.  He kinda <em>had</em> to tell you.  The whole reason he’d mentioned it to you ahead of time was so that he couldn’t chicken out, so…  here went nothing.<br/><br/>“…  uh.”<br/><br/>He probably should’ve thought about how he was going to bring this up to you before he was already sitting here with you, visibly uncomfortable and grasping for words.<br/><br/>Scratch that.  He did think about it.  A lot.  He just never came up with anything that felt like the right thing to say to you.<br/><br/>The funny thing was, Sans had spent a long time feeling broken because of his lack of attraction towards anyone.  He grew up watching everyone he knew develop crushes, go out with people, and as he got older, even watched some get married.  And he waited and waited, but…  for years and years, it felt the same to him as it always had.  It felt like a world he simply wasn’t a part of.  That wasn’t to say that he’d been bitter because he was single.  In fact, he’d had to dole out his fair share of rejections over the years (and he always hated doing that—he lived for making people smile, not breaking their hearts).  No, it wasn’t that he wished he had a romantic and-or sexual partner.  It was that he was starkly aware that he didn’t want that, and that most people did, and that every time they talked about it, as much as he was happy for them, he also felt a pang of anxiety and an aching sense that a part of himself that was supposed to be there was missing.  He wondered sometimes if he was heartless.  He wondered sometimes if he was ill.  Quietly, he came to accept that there was something wrong with him, that he was going to miss out on incredible things because of the way he was, and he was just going to have to live with that.<br/><br/>And then you came along, and turned it all upside-down, but instead of feeling fulfilled like he once might have imagined he would have if things fell into place this way, he just felt even more confused, lost, and upset.<br/><br/>“…  Sans, sweetie, are you okay?”<br/><br/>Your gentle voice brought him back to the present, and the fact that you were still waiting on a response, and that even though that all made sense to him in his head, he could never even begin to put it into words for you, not on the spot like this.  And that was his own fault, for trapping himself into telling you about all this and then never actually figuring out how to do that, <em>damn it, what if he just</em>--<br/><br/>“i wanna have sex with you but i can’t.”<br/><br/>Silence had never been so deafening.  He stared up at you, tense and blushing.  You stared back down at him, caught off-guard.  He really should have built up to that a little, shouldn’t he?  Instant, crushing regret set in.<br/><br/>“sorry.  that was a weird joke—”<br/><br/>He started to turn his bashful gaze to his lap, but you caught him by the cheek and gently turned his face back towards yours.<br/><br/>“No,” you insisted.  “Go on.  I’m listening.”  Your lips turned up in a soft, patient smile.  “I’m your girlfriend, Sans.  If you need someone to talk to about your sexuality, I’m your gal.”<br/><br/>Man.  Anyone else his age had this shit figured out decades ago, it felt like.  He didn’t know how you put up with him sometimes.  But he relaxed a little once you perceived that he did, in fact, want to talk about…  his…  sexuality.  Which still felt weird to even have.  He was grateful to you for gently steering him back on-topic when he tried to make an emergency exit.<br/><br/>“i…  i <em>wanna</em> talk about it, and i will.  it just feels kinda gross and i dunno where to start,” he mumbled, hugging himself self-consciously.  You rubbed his arm reassuringly, and felt him relax into your touch.<br/><br/>“Okay, well…  when we started dating, you told me you were asexual, and I told you that’s fine and I love you just the way you are.  Which is still and will always be true, by the way.”  You grinned and booped his nasal ridge, which made him smile a little more, too.  “So…  let’s start there.  We start dating.  You’re ace.  Then what?”<br/><br/>“then…  then nothing.  for awhile.”  Sans went back to staring at his lap, and you let him this time.  “i was just starting to feel happy and comfortable with that.  just starting to get over feeling like i was depriving you or whatever, just starting to feel like maybe i could be a good enough boyfriend in all the other ways to make up for it…” <br/><br/>You opened your mouth to interrupt him, but he continued, “and i know, i know you’re gonna say that there was nothing to make up for.”  Yeah, he nailed it.  That was exactly what you were about to say.  “you’re really sweet, and i know that.  when i take a moment to just think, and ask myself if you’re really the kinda person who would hold that against me, i know you’re not.  i just get so caught up feeling down on myself sometimes i don’t even realize what some of the stuff i think would imply about you.  you’re the most loving person i know.  i just feel like a really difficult guy to love.”<br/><br/>“Well, <em>that’s</em> not true…” You let out a little snort of laughter and pressed a kiss to the crown of his skull.  “I fell in love with you without even trying, remember?”<br/><br/>He chuckled along with you, but just seemed to wilt all over again right after.  “i guess.  but the point is, just when i was starting to settle into that?  i started.  noticing.  things.  about you.  no, more like…”  He sighed in frustration with himself, and you rubbed his shoulder to help set him at ease again.  He moved a hand up to rest over yours for support.  “i always noticed things about you.  aesthetically.  but at some point, and i dunno exactly when, i started to feel a certain way about that.  i mean, i felt…  i <em>feel</em> more than nothing, sometimes, now, when i think about…  it.  with you.  and that’s kinda overwhelming, because ‘more than nothing’ is more than i ever thought i’d experience, and now instead of just feeling broken i feel like i’m broken <em>and</em> a liar.”<br/><br/>You raised your eyebrows at him.  “Well, I promise, I don’t think you’re <em>either</em> of those things.”  You wanted to make that clear immediately.  “But I know that’s how you feel right now.  Tell me why you feel that way, Sansy.”<br/><br/>God, you were good at this.  He wanted to open himself up to you so badly, so completely, that his soul throbbed with the need for it.  There was something he could do with that.  Something you’d dabbled in together only recently as soulmates.  But he didn’t want to bring it there right now.  Not yet.  Not while he was still feeling so awful.  Words would have to suffice for now, as bad as he felt at producing the right ones.<br/><br/>“well, i feel broken because it took me this long to feel this way about anyone.  and i feel like a liar for putting a label on myself i apparently can’t stick to.  i mean…  you don’t know how many times people would try and tell me i ‘just hadn’t found the right person yet.’  and i always hated that.  i always felt like i knew that wasn’t the issue.  but now i feel like…  doesn’t this just prove them right?”  He frowned, looking more troubled than you’d seen him all evening.  “and what’s that gonna make them think about all the other aces out there?  if i was just faking, or confused, or whatever.  that’ll just make them even more sure that we <em>all</em> are.”<br/><br/>You took a moment to be certain he was done, then told him gently, “That seems like a lot of responsibility for one guy to take on, Sans.  Sexuality is an extremely personal thing.  And I think the only way to figure yours out is to stop focusing on how it looks, or what it means, for other people.  You’re not responsible for other people’s lack of understanding.  If they can’t understand that it’s different for everybody, that’s on them.”  You laced your fingers through his and gave his hand a little squeeze.  “You should be focusing on what you feel.  What you want.  What makes you happy.  And if you want to put a label on it, then asexuality is a whole spectrum and you might want to consider if you might be demisexual, or gray-asexual.  Something like that.  Or…  you can just be Sans.”  You pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling this time.  “Sometimes, words just can’t express, y’know?”<br/><br/>Sans squeezed your hand back and rested his skull on you, his expression pensive as he mulled all that over.<br/><br/>“’just be sans,’ huh?” he echoed thoughtfully.  “…  and, uh.  d’you like this ‘sans’ guy?”<br/><br/>You felt yourself beaming and couldn’t help but let out a giggle, turning towards him and coaxing him face-to-face with you, so that you could trail your kisses straight from his forehead down his nasal ridge.<br/><br/>“I love him.”<br/><br/>You kissed the tip of his nose, and he tilted his head back to place his teeth level with your lips, shutting his eyes but pausing meaningfully before kissing you.<br/><br/>“well, if you do…  then maybe i can try, too.”<br/><br/>As you kissed, soft lips to smooth bone like so many times before, he leaned his weight into you, and you accepted him with quite literal open arms that soon cinched around his waist in a tight, meaningful hug.  His arms looped up over your shoulders and around your neck.  You’d never felt him nuzzle into your kisses quite like this before.  Swept up in the moment, you slowly collapsed on to your back across the length of the couch, legs sticking awkwardly up in the air for a moment before settling back down to rest on the cushions. <br/><br/>At no point did the amorous skeleton on top of you stop nuzzling against your lips.  But once you were both down, him prone and you supine, he purred out, his voice an even deeper rumble than usual, “i love you, too.”<br/><br/>He was never one to leave an ‘I love you’ unreciprocated, even one as roundabout as the one you’d just playfully given him.<br/><br/>He pulled away a little, propped himself up on his hands, and you grinned at each other, your cheeks flushed pink with blood, and his own, blue with magic.  Tentatively unashamed now, he drank you in with a new sense of intrigue in his expression.  His fingers threaded tenderly into the hair at the side of your head and swept it back behind your ear, where he left it to instead trace along the line of your jaw.<br/><br/>“hey, so.  i was thinking a bit earlier.  with all this…  feelings… stuff, going on.  do you maybe wanna…”<br/><br/>“Do the soulmate thing?” you completed his thought eagerly, because it had been on your mind, too.<br/><br/>“heh.  ‘scalled synergizing.  but yeah.”<br/><br/>Synergizing was, in summary, the ability of two soulmates to form a direct and concerted connection between their two souls.  Doing so achieved a state of extreme empathy.  What could be more important to a bonded pair than being able to communicate what they were thinking and feeling even when they couldn’t find the words?  It was common knowledge among monsters, and when he’d first brought it up to you only to find you had no idea what he was talking about, it had definitely been one of those <em>humans are so weird </em>moments.  When humans couldn’t express something they were feeling, they just…  said <em>oh </em>well and moved on?  That didn’t seem healthy.  He was happy to find, that first time you tried it together, that synergizing still worked even though you were a human.<br/><br/>Sans would’ve expressed himself to you through synergy earlier, but all that confusion, doubt and self-loathing…  it had been too painful.  He hadn’t wanted to dump that all on you.  Once that connection between the two of you opened, you would feel all those feelings as your own.  He couldn’t do that to you.  But now that you’d helped him make peace with what he was going through, he had only good feelings to share with you.  He was ready.<br/><br/>And you were, too.  You answered him, “Yes.  C’mere and cuddle while we do it.”<br/><br/>Sans let out a long, relieved sigh as he settled back down on top of you, chest to chest.  You didn’t <em>need</em> to be chest to chest for this to work, but it certainly helped.  You rested one arm around his waist to hold him, but left your other arm resting in the space next to your head on the couch cushion, fingers slightly spread.  Slowly, calmly, tenderly, he fit his own fingers into the spaces between yours, and focused on it as the point of connection between the two of you.  His soul glowed bright blue in his chest, visible even though his shirt, and slowly, that glowing magic flowed outwards, over his bones and through the spaces between them, extending outwards to that point of connection.  You watched, transfixed, as it bridged the space between each of his finger bones, before finally, it touched your skin, and you breathed deep as your senses melded.  Feelings, sensations, even somewhat thoughts.  Your heartbeat.  The steady hum of his magic.  Your compassion towards him.  His sense of belonging in your arms.  And more than anything, your love for each other.  You made sure he could feel your love and acceptance of him after all he’d told you that day, concentrating on that one thing, until you felt a response in him.  A surge of heart-warmth, so intense and cloyingly sweet that your throat tightened.  At that same moment, Sans let out a noise like he'd almost started to cry but covered it up by clearing his throat.  His voice was soft and trembling when he next spoke, confirming that he had, in fact, gotten a little choked up.<br/><br/>“i, uh…  thank you.  for everything.”<br/><br/>“You’re welcome.  For everything.”<br/><br/>You stayed like that for awhile.  Your emotions slowly soothed until it felt like your souls had reached a new equilibrium together.  Sans was getting sleepy, you could tell, even as the heaviness of your eyelids felt so, authentically your own.  That was <em>his</em> thing, getting all cozy and sleepy while cuddling.<br/><br/>But just before he could start snoring, you opened your eyes, stared up at the ceiling, and remarked with a jolt of surprise, “Oh, wait.  So when you said you wanna have sex with me but you can’t.  You were talking about all those emotional hang-ups?  I thought you might’ve meant you don’t have.  Equipment.”<br/><br/>Unfortunately, this seemed to take your boyfriend right back out of the moment.  You felt a flash of embarrassment, then a disconnect from him as your souls amicably retreated fully back into your own bodies.  You winced and sat up, bringing him upright along with you.<br/><br/>“Sorry, was that insensitive?”<br/><br/>“no, no, you’re cool.  it’s just…”  He groaned, seeming, as always, irritated with himself rather than with you.  “…  would you believe me if i told you i got so caught up on the emotional part i totally forgot about that?”<br/><br/>You chuckled softly.  “I was just all up in your soul about ten seconds ago, Sans, I know what you’re about.  I one-hundred-percent believe you.”<br/><br/>“so, yeah.  that’s another thing.  i want you, but you’re right.  i don’t have…  equipment.”  He sighed and fwumped his face to your chest, embarrassed.  “and i don’t think the power of love is gonna be able to help with that one.  i…  i tried.  i <em>really </em>tried.  to figure out how that kinda thing is supposed to work on my body, but it seems like it just doesn’t no matter how…  turned on, i guess, i am.”<br/><br/>You frowned and nodded slowly in understanding.  Poor Sans.  To be anorgasmic on top of everything else…  that was rough.  “It’s alright.  We can keep trying, if that’s what you want.  As long as it takes, sugar skull.  I don’t want you to feel in any kind of hurry over this.  When it’s a good time for it, we’ll just…  relax, take it really slow, feel things out, and…  maybe there’s something we can accomplish together that you couldn’t do on your own?  Maybe there’s something I can do to help you out.”<br/><br/>“…  maybe.”<br/><br/>From anyone else, that clipped, one-word response might’ve sounded totally defeated and dejected.  But from Sans, there was a lilt of hope to it.<br/><br/>“And if not, it’ll be okay.  We’ll figure out something good for us both no matter what.  I promise.”<br/><br/>And you two <em>always</em> kept your promises to one another.  He knew that, and had it in mind as he nodded solemnly.<br/><br/>“alright.”<br/><br/>You gazed at each other, then both melted into another hug at the same time.<br/><br/>And as your chests pressed together, as you felt the slight, almost magnetic pull of a pair of souls that wanted to be together, connected, <em>synergized</em> again…  that was when it dawned on you exactly what you needed to do.  You pulled away a lot more abruptly than he was probably expecting you to do and held him by the shoulders, your grip tight and your expression almost manic with joy.  “Ohmygod.  Sans!”<br/><br/>He, on the other hand, just looked a little panicked at the sudden shift in tone.  “w-what.”<br/><br/>“What if the power of love <em>is</em> the answer!”  You took one of his hands and held it between both of yours emphatically, indicating your favorite method of synergizing, looking him meaningfully in the eyes.<br/><br/>He stared back at you…  then flushed with realization.  “…  <em>oh</em>.”<br/><br/>You leaned in a little closer, grinning at him positively brilliantly.  “Well?  Do you think that would work?  If you synergized with me and we did something that gave me an orgasm, wouldn’t we both…?”<br/><br/>“oh my god.”<br/><br/>You could take that as a yes, which caused you to burst into breathy, exhilarated laughter.  “Oh my god!  This is so gonna work!  Sansy!”<br/><br/>“oh my <em>god</em>.”<br/><br/>You expected him to join you in laughter.  He looked delighted enough.  But instead, he threw himself into your arms, catching you off-guard and toppling you back down on to the cushions. <br/><br/>“stars, you’re amazing.”  He kissed you reverently a few more times, then pulled away and gazed at you with hazy, dilated, half-lidded pupils, and uttered a single word.<br/><br/>“bed.”<br/><br/>You blinked up at him, your heart skipping a beat and setting a new, more excited pace.<br/><br/>“Yes.”<br/><br/>You replied just as succinctly and eagerly, then hesitated and double-checked, “If you’re sure you’re ready.  I know today was difficult for you.  We can always pick this up another time if--”<br/><br/>Sans cut you off, something he hardly ever did, his voice low and desperate enough to ignite a flare of arousal in you all on its own.  “please.  sweetheart.”<br/><br/>Oh, he was <em>ready</em>.  He was on the verge of begging, and you loved it.  If it were anyone else, you would’ve honed in on that.  Drawn yourself away from them, made them beg some more.  But this was Sans, and after all he’d been through to get to this point, especially after the fuckin’ day he’d had…  you couldn’t help but have a little mercy on him, for now.<br/><br/>You wrapped your arms around him, anchoring yourself to him, and you agreed, “Alright.  Bed.”<br/><br/>You were used to the sensation of him teleporting you around with him at this point, so it must’ve been your anticipation for what was to come that made your stomach do a flip as he fulfilled your mutual request.</p>
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